Hope For Him – Kabir

O friend! hope for Him whilst you live, know whilst you live,
understand whilst you live: for in life deliverance abides.
If your bonds be not broken whilst living, what hope of
deliverance in death?
It is but an empty dream, that the soul shall have union with Him
because it has passed from the body:
If He is found now, He is found then,
If not, we do but go to dwell in the City of Death.
If you have union now, you shall have it hereafter.
Bathe in the truth, know the true Guru, have faith in the true
Kabîr says: ‘It is the Spirit of the quest which helps; I am the slave of this Spirit of the quest.

Rains Have Come – Amir Khusro

Dear Mom, send my dad across; the rainy season has come.
Oh, dear daughter, how can I?
Your dad’s too old; the rainy season has come.
Dear Mom, send my brother across; the rainy season has come.
Oh, dear daughter, how can I?
Your brother’s too young; the rainy season has come.
Dear Mom, send my uncle across; the rainy season has come.
Oh, dear daughter, how can I?
Your uncle’s too dandy; the rainy season has come.

My Youth – Amir Khusro

My youth is budding, is full of passion;
How can I spend this time without my beloved?
Would someone please coax Nizamuddin Aulia,
The more I appease him, the more annoyed he gets;
My youth is budding……
Want to break these bangles against the cot,
And throw up my blouse into fire,
The empty bed scares me,
The fire of separation keeps burning me.
Oh, beloved. My youth is budding.

Saat Surma Bolaucha Prem – Gorakh Pandey

आमा, म जोगीसँग जान्छु

शिरीषको रूखमुनि

भेटिएको थियो ऊ

उसको हातमा थियो फगत बाँसुरी एउटा

आँखामा थियो आकाशको सपना

पाउमा धुलो र घाउ



भौंतारिन्छ जोगी

मानौं, खोजिहिँड्छ गुमाएको प्रेम

बिर्सिएका याद र नामहरू

बाँसुरीको धुनमा समेट्दै

देख्नेबित्तिकै मैले मन पराएँ उसलाई

आमा, म जोगीसँग जान्छु

छैन उसको ठाउँ-ठेगाना

न छ जातपात

गाउँ र जंगलमा

वेदनाको राग गुञ्जाउँदै भौंतारिन्छ जोगी

के बह होला उसलाई, आमा

यो धर्तीमा उसले

कहिल्यै पाएन कि प्रेम ?

आमा, म जोगीसँग जान्छु

बिहेको दिन

मलाई लिन

आउनेछन् जन्ती

डोली, कलश, बाजागाजा लिएर

सुन्दर परिधानमा रवाफसाथ घोडामा सवार भएर

आउलान् दुलहा

मलाई नदेखेर उनीहरू रिसाए भने

संकोच नमान्नू, आमा

तिमीले धेरै सहेकी छौ

तिमीलाई थाहा छ-

स्त्रीको कलेजो कसरी पत्थर बन्छ

कसरी स्त्री

महलको खोपीमा सजाउनलायक

पत्थर बन्छे

म त हुँ हाडमासुकी स्त्री

हुन सक्दिनँ पत्थर

न हुन सक्छु बिक्रीको माल

तिमी सजाइदिनू डोली

राखिदिनू त्यसमा काठको पुतली

त्यसलाई घुम्टो पनि ओढाइदिनू

र, भनिदिनू उनीहरूलाई-

यही हो तिमीहरूकी दुलही !

म त जोगीसँग जान्छु, आमा

सुन, ऊ बाँसुरी बजाइरहेको छ

सात सुरमा मलाई बोलाइरहेको छ प्रेम

म कसरी उसलाई

नाइँ भन्न सक्छु ?

Source: http://annapurnapost.com/news/130900

The Kiss – Rabindranath Tagore

Lips’ language to lips’ ears.
Two drinking each other’s heart, it seems.
Two roving loves who have left home,
pilgrims to the confluence of lips.
Two waves rise by the law of love
to break and die on two sets of lips.
Two wild desires craving each other
meet at last at the body’s limits.
Love’s writing a song in dainty letters,
layers of kiss-calligraphy on lips.
Plucking flowers from two sets of lips
perhaps to thread them into a chain later.
This sweet union of lips
is the red marriage-bed of a pair of smiles. 

Sleep – Rabindranath Tagore

In the night of weariness 
let me give myself up to sleep without struggle, 
resting my trust upon thee. 

Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thy worship. 

It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the day 
to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening. 

A Poem – Majeed Amjad

Sons, my native land has sons
born on soil
barren and rocky and lone
for ages lone
across the gaping wilderness tear
ruthless winds and torrents of pain
sweep in epochs.
sweep them out.

Sons of mountains
radiant petals of jasmine gay
specks of time-less age-less rocks
elegant, fair and tender moulds
lumps of leathern coarsened hearts
damned by sun and wind and time
dashed from tops.
they seek a home
lost in dust beneath their feet

On a heap of squalid unscrubbed pans
immersed in simmering scalding water
the toiling sweating hands do seek
the blessed home
for ages they have thought and dreamed.

In towns flourshing
along the banks of mountain brooks
stays a-while
a fleeting cloud of gloom.
The Home!
and from an urban sheeted roof
curls into waves of trailing smoke.

The brook is limpid murmuring gold
the smoke is trailing meandering gold
the killers are killers
of conscience grace and candid souls
if ever they marked
the wave of anguish
a dash, a span
among the torrents of water and sweat
the rocks in hearts
the dark sinister rocks would fall.